133. Recruitment, Spiderman

New York City – Nightfall

The city buzzed with its usual late-night symphony — honking cabs, neon lights flickering, distant music from rooftop parties. But high above the bustling streets, amidst towering skyscrapers and howling wind, something unusual was happening.

A red-and-blue figure shot through the air, clinging to one building, then hurling himself toward the next with practiced ease. His homemade suit was rough — a mismatched fabric of old gym wear, repurposed goggles, and patched gloves. But it worked.

Spider-Man — or rather, Peter Parker, a teenage high schooler with a secret — swung gracefully between the buildings, his eyes fixed on a moving target ahead.

"Come on… where are you going?" Peter muttered under his breath.

The figure he chased wasn't normal. It didn't walk or even run. It floated — twisting through the air like a cloud of sand held together by will. From a distance, it looked like a man made entirely of sand, each gust of wind shifting the edges of his body.

"Okay, okay," Peter muttered breathlessly, "guy made of sand flying through the air. No big deal. New York, right? Weirder stuff happens every week."

---

Midtown, Manhattan – Rooftop Construction Site

The figure finally landed — or rather, formed — atop an unfinished rooftop. The concrete floor cracked slightly under the weight of shifting sand as the being turned, its shape solidifying into the form of a man with jagged edges and swirling grains.

"End of the line, Sandman," Spider-Man quipped, landing across from him.

The sandman's head tilted, his face barely formed.

"You're fast, bug boy," he said, his voice gritty and echoing like wind over dunes. "But you've got no idea who you're messin' with."

Peter raised both arms. "Yeah? Well, I've got web fluid and a midterm in physics tomorrow, so how about we keep this quick?"

Without another word, Sandman surged forward, his arm extending into a massive hammer made entirely of sand. Spider-Man leapt back as the blow smashed into the rooftop, spraying dust and gravel into the air.

Peter flipped mid-air and shot two webs toward a metal girder. Swinging back in, he launched a web-ball into Sandman's chest — it splattered uselessly.

"Okay, so maybe I should've brought the industrial glue," Peter muttered.

Sandman's torso opened up, sand spilling outward and reforming behind Spider-Man. Before Peter could react, a massive arm slammed into his side, hurling him into a pile of bricks.

Peter groaned and rolled away as another sand fist struck the bricks where his head had been.

"Alright, new plan. No punching. Lots of moving."

Spider-Man shot a web to a crane overhead, launching himself into the air. From there, he began swinging in circles around Sandman, firing web after web, hoping to pin or at least distract him.

It worked — briefly. The webbing slowed Sandman's movement, tangling his limbs.

Peter flipped in and kicked Sandman square in the jaw — only for his foot to pass through sand.

"That's cheating!" he yelled mid-fall.

The sand exploded outward, blasting Spider-Man across the rooftop again.

When he recovered, panting and bruised, Sandman was already retreating, flowing off the edge of the building and disappearing into a nearby storm drain in a swirl of dust.

Peter crawled to the edge and peered down.

"Yeah, that's right. Run, you weird sand tornado…"

But the victory felt hollow.

---

Thirty Minutes Later – Rooftop Ledge, East Harlem

Peter sat with his knees up, overlooking the city.

His homemade suit was torn at the shoulder. One lens on his goggles was cracked. He'd be grounded if Aunt May ever found out about this — again.

"Nice one, Pete," he muttered. "You got your butt kicked by a walking beach. Real superhero material."

Then —

FWUMPH.

A blue light shimmered behind him.

Peter turned sharply, body tense. A circular portal hovered just feet away, edges crackling with mystical energy. From within it, a hooded figure in a long black coat stepped out. His face was hidden in shadows, but his posture was calm.

Peter tensed. "Okay. No sudden moves. Are you… an alien? A wizard? A time traveler?"

The figure pulled back his hood.

A weathered face. One eye covered by a patch. A sharp, calculating stare.

Peter didn't recognize him.

"Who... are you supposed to be?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Name's Nick Fury."

Peter blinked. "Cool. Still not ringing a bell."

Fury walked past him, overlooking the city. "You've been busy, Peter Parker."

Peter flinched. "Okay, wait—how do you know my name?!"

"I know a lot of things. Like the fact you've been swinging around the city at night. Taking on threats way out of your league. Like… sand monsters."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Are you spying on me?"

Fury turned, his voice calm but firm. "Think of it as… observing potential."

"Potential for what?" Peter asked.

Fury turned, serious now. "There's an academy. You don't need to know the details yet. Not officially. It's off-the-books. We bring in people like you — people who can do things that others can't. People who can't afford to stay ordinary anymore."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "What — like superhero school?"

" Something like that," Fury replied.

There was a long pause.

Peter shook his head. "I've got school. Friends. Aunt May. I'm not looking to join some secret club in the middle of who-knows-where. I'm just trying to do some good in my own neighborhood."

Fury sighed, stepped closer, and looked him in the eye.

"You fought something tonight that no one else could've. You weren't trained. You weren't ready. But you still tried. That's what makes you different, kid."

He paused, then added, "And I'm not offering. I'm telling."

Peter blinked.

"But I—"

Fury raised an eyebrow.

"Would it help if I told you Tony Stark's watching the program?"

Peter's jaw dropped.

"Wait — THE Tony Stark?! Like, Iron Man Tony Stark?"

Fury gave a faint smirk. "He's got a file on you, Parker. Hasn't decided what to do with it yet. But he will."

Peter looked away, conflicted. "I'm not ready."

Fury placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No one ever is."

For a long time, Peter said nothing.

Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he muttered, "Fine. I'll go check it out. But only because you name-dropped Iron Man. And only if you promise not to portal into my bedroom."

Fury turned away, opening a new portal with a flick of his wrist. "No promises."

The portal flared brighter, and Fury stepped through.

---

A Few Seconds Later – Sky Fortress,

Fury stumbled through the shimmering portal and into a sleek, high-tech corridor.

His hand gripped a railing.

His stomach churned.

Then, without warning—

"Huurgh—"

He bent over and vomited violently into a nearby bin.

A moment passed. He wiped his mouth with a groan and muttered to himself:

"I'm too old for this magic shit."